


Addiction

by fatalchild



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalchild/pseuds/fatalchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merrill believes she has fixed the Eluvian, but exactly what power does the mirror hold?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addiction

The sun was beginning to rise, but Hawke’s estate was still quiet.  He was somewhere between awake and asleep, listening to the ambient noises of his house: the rustle of blankets, the crackling of the fire, the soft breathing of his dog.  The rush of footsteps on the stairs was soft enough to blend in and go unnoticed, but Hawke awoke when she called his name.

“Hawke, are you awake? Oh, wake up!”

He jumped up. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Merrill jumped onto the bed and threw her arms around his neck.  “It’s not wrong—nothing is wrong.  I didn’t mean to startle you, but you must come see!”

“See what?”

“The Eluvian, Hawke. I’ve fixed it. It works, it finally works.”

He paled slightly and felt his mouth go dry.  “What do you mean it works? What does it do?”

She pulled on his arm. “Come see.”

 

The alienage was still dark, and most of the elves were still sleeping.  The candles in Merrill’s house had gone out in her absence, leaving her house looking as quiet as all the rest.  She paid the darkness no mind, pushing the door open and sliding into the shadows as she walked to the back room.  Hawke followed, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.  Her eyes followed his hand.

“You didn’t need to bring that,” she said. “It’s not dangerous.”

“Highwaymen,” he lied. “Do you have any idea how many people want me dead?”

“Oh,” she nodded. “Right.”

 

The mirror towered over the room from its small corner.  The glass showed no reflection.  

“It looks the same,” Hawke frowned.

“Wait.”

She approached the mirror with a calm reverence.  She hesitated, then extended her hand and brushed the tips of her fingers over the glass.  Ripples spread at her touch.  Sparkling pools of purple and blue bubbled under the glass, swirling together as the Eluvian came to life.

“Maker…” breathed Hawke.

“Isn’t it amazing?”

“What is it, exactly? What is it doing?”

“It’s a portal.”

“To where?”

She frowned.  “Right now it’s somewhat of a dead end.  It should be able to connect to the others, but… I guess there aren’t any others.  But Hawke, even reclaiming this much is more than most of my people ever dreamed of.  I can take it back to the clan now, and maybe they’ll finally understand.”

She turned back to the Eluvian and placed her hands upon it, stroking it.  Her fingers seemed to press past the surface, dipping beyond the surface.  The depths of the mirror shifted.  The blue drained out of the pools of light, leaving oily red puddles floating in a sea of grey.  They bled together into a grotesque blob, which expanded and quivered as it began to distinguish its form.

Hawke called to Merrill, but she didn’t seem to hear.  By the time she turned back towards him, it was too late.  Dripping red arms burst from the depths of the mirror.  Clawed fingers curled around her face as the hands gripped her head.  She arched her back, recoiling against the creature.  She tore at the hands on her face, kicking and screaming wildly.  Her body twisted, contorted, flailed—all in vain.

Hawke slashed the hands, but his sword passed through them like air, having no effect.  He tried to plunge the blade into the creature’s core, but it struck the surface of the mirror with a dull clang. Abandoning the weapon, he grabbed Merrill and, bracing one hand against the mirror, tried to banish the lyrium which had begun to seep out of the mirror and saturate the whole room.  When that failed, he grabbed her with both hands and tried to physically pull her from the creature’s grasp. Merrill’s screams ceased as her head vanished into the mirror.  Her body slid through his hands, leaving him desperately grasping the cold air. 

 

Hawke screamed until he woke up.

He bolted upright in bed, soaked and shivering from a cold sweat.  Tossing the bedding aside, he fled, running down the hall to a back room with a locked cupboard.  He tore it open and groped within is dark recesses until his fingers found the collection of vials hidden in the back.  The thick blue liquid tingled as it slid down his throat.  He drank, and he drank, and he drank, vial after vial until his throat burned and the metallic taste of blood began to seep from the corners of his mouth.

“Hawke…?”

Her voice startled him. “…what?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

He replaced the vials and locked the door before returning to bed.

“What happened?” asked Merrill, reaching for his arm.

“It’s nothing.”

Hawke embraced Merrill against him, trying to slow the beating of his heart before it gave him away.  His breathing finally slowed and sleep returned, his panic quelled by the warmth of her skin and the rush of lyrium coursing through his veins.


End file.
